


(Taking) Chances and Lives

by PaigeTurner



Series: Bullet Points [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Drakov's Daughter - Freeform, F/M, Friendship, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Pre-Canon, Sao Paulo, Sexual Abuse, The "sass" in "assassin", Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-03-18
Packaged: 2018-10-06 21:51:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10345287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaigeTurner/pseuds/PaigeTurner
Summary: A young Natalya Romanova's life is shaped by her encounters with Clint Barton, the Winter Soldier, a girl named Sofiya, and others.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Concurrent with "(Making) Coffee and a Different Call", preceding "All the Way Home I'll Be Warm", can be read alone or in any order with its series-mates.

04.01.98; 21:05;

42.4438411,19.2586038 (Podgorica, Montenegro)

Natalya finished buttoning the sheer white blouse and tucked it into her micro mini skirt. She cocked her head at her reflection and furrowed her brow before untucking the blouse. She undid the bottom two buttons and tied the shirttails around her waist. Satisfied, she stepped outside, loitering on the street until a car pulled up. 

The driver leaned across the seat and shoved the passenger door open. For ninety deutsche marks and a blow job, he would take her to her target. Half upfront. She passed him fifty with coy smile and patted his leg as she settled in. He’d be dead before she needed to make good on the rest. 

She knew a broken slurry of pidgin slavic languages, but they’d told her the contact would speak English. “The rest after,” she said. 

He thumbed through the money and tucked it into his pocket. “We’ll have to frisk you before we leave you alone with him. No weapons.”

Natalya nodded.

“How will you do it?”

“Let me worry about that.”

They arrived at a sketchy-looking hotel. The target could afford better, no doubt, but no one would think to look for him here. Natalya waited and the man opened her door for her, she took his arm as she hauled herself out of the car. He led her to a room on the third floor. She studied the target while his friend groped her and passed it off as a search. They left her alone with General. 

“Your friend tells me you’re lonely,” Natalya purred as she strutted over to sit next to him on the bed. 

He reached over to the nightstand, picking up a packet of white powder. “I need some help making the most of my purchases.” He fumbled open the top button of her blouse. He set the drugs down to use both hands as he worked two more buttons open. “You have beautiful skin,” he whispered, staring down at her chest. 

He leaned back. “I gotta take a piss before we start. Feel free to cut yourself a line while I’m in the head.”

“I’ll get high with you, but I don’t take drugs as payment.” She watched him sway on his feet as he crossed the room. 

"I have cash too," he assured her, shouting from the bathroom.

She quickly retrieved a baggie of her own, tucked into her underwear. She mixed the powders together, watching the doorway to the bathroom. She hid the empty baggie beneath the mattress as she heard the toilet flush. 

“Pretty good stuff,” she remarked, waving the bag at the General. 

He smiled with half his face, staggering back towards her. “It ought to be for what I paid.”

She could smell booze on him. “What are you drinking?” 

Before the old man could answer, the window behind the bed shattered. A man rolled across the threadbare carpet. The general drew a pistol and began firing with a wavering hand. 

The intruder dove towards the general. Natalya knew it didn’t matter who killed him, as long as the man ended up dead and she didn’t take the fall. She sprinted for the door, leaving her high heels at the bedside. 

Her contact grabbed her arm as she fled down the hallway. Natalya struck him in the head and wrenched his wrist hard enough to break it. He dropped to the ground. The second man was no more challenging. The second he laid hands on her, Natalya was a whirlwind of quick blows and ruthless attacks. She broke his nose and his knee and made for the stairs. 

“Stop!”

She froze. The intruder. Slowly she turned to face him. There were scratches on his bare arms from the broken glass and he held a gun with evident training. She widened her eyes, bringing her hands up in front of her. 

“Please, please,” she said, inflecting a muddled Serbian accent.  “I am not with him. I'm a bystander. Please don't shoot me.”

The man chambered a round.

“I'll do anything.” She forced a little tremor into both her voice and her hand as she unfastened another button on her blouse. “Anything.” Her hand dropped to the next button, using her thumb to push the fabric aside and expose her bare chest. “Please.”

“You're the Black Widow.”

_ Well shit _ . She gave up the innocent victim act and the accent. “Who are you?”

“I’m with SHIELD.”

She dropped her hand to her side. He was too far down the hallway, she couldn’t reach him to disarm him before he pulled the trigger.

“I'm supposed to kill you,” he said.

Natalya closed her eyes and braced for the bullet. At least death would come quickly. 

“We have a big problem,” the man said. 

Natalya scrunched her eyes tighter shut, shrinking into herself.

“No. I don't kill children. You know that.”

She slowly opened her eyes. Did that mean he wouldn't kill her?

“Your Black Widow, sir, she looks like she's ten.”

Ten? She didn't bother to mask her offense at the comment. 

_ “Let them underestimate you.” Madame B’s counsel resonated in her mind. _

“If she escapes?” the man -- the SHIELD agent-- asked into the phone.

Natalya wondered -- her first time worrying about any skin but her own -- what SHIELD would do to their agent if he failed and she escaped. 

He tucked the phone out of sight. “You have a name?”

“I'd rather die than be taken prisoner,” she replied. The worst parts of her training had prepared her for such a possibility.

“They fit all that on a birth certificate? Your parents must've had some weird sense of humor.” He lowered the gun just an inch. “Clint Barton,” he stated.

She studied him, absorbing his stance, his expression. He was serious. “Natalya Romanova.”

“Button your blouse, Natalya. You said you'd do anything if I don't shoot you. Did you mean it?”

No. It had been idle chatter, an attempt to disarm him. She made no move to fasten her shirt. Let him stare. “What do you want from me?”

“I want you to work for SHIELD.”

She thought of Madame. Of Ivan. Of the other girls. “I cannot betray them.” She straightened her posture. The glory of Soviet supremacy rested its mantle over her shoulders.

“What they're asking you to do is wrong. I think you know that.”

She nearly laughed at his earnestness. “They asked me to poison a man who pays young girls for the privilege of snorting cocaine off their naked bodies. Are you sure they're wrong?”

“Okay, I'll give you that one. When they ask you to do something that isn't so black and white, I want you to call SHIELD.” He held up a phone, pushing buttons without taking his eyes off her. “And if they hurt you, or you get in over your head and SHIELD can't or won't help, my personal number is the second one.” He bent slowly and deliberately laid the cell on the carpet.

He backed away. “Pick up the phone, and I'll let you leave.”

It had to be a trap. Her brows came together, a little crease forming in the center of her forehead. “I'll never call.”

“I bet you say that to all the guys.” He backed up a few more steps. 

He watched her like a hawk as she advanced. Still trying to calculate his angle on everything, Natalya stepped over the phone and turned her back to him before bending from the hips to reach for it. She knew she'd given him a little show. Hopefully he'd appreciate it enough not to shoot her in the back.

“At least SHIELD has the budget to clothe its agents,” he remarked. 

“Then you should requisition some sleeves.” Natalya glanced over her shoulder at him. Pot calling the kettle underdressed, as far as she was concerned. She studied the phone for a moment and tucked it down the front of her skirt.

She committed both numbers to memory and dropped the phone itself into a gutter outside. She wouldn’t risk leading their enemies to the extraction point.

***

05.17.98, 17:35

14.5964879,120.9094221 (Manila, Phillipines)

“Fourteen more bodies have been recovered from the ruins of the Lung Center, where a devastating fire broke out on Saturday. This brings the total death count to twenty-two. Many others are being treated for burns and smoke inhalation. Police are still investigating the cause of the fire.”

Natalya changed the channel until she found a mindless gameshow. Twenty-one people had given their lives so that she could kill one man. They were husbands and wives. Mothers. Fathers. Children. Her hair still smelled of smoke. She left the television on for background noise as she showered. 

_ Something that isn’t so black and white. _

She found herself wondering what would have happened if she’d called.

***

06.21.98, 11:46

38.8950877,-77.0672599 (the Triskelion)

“SHIELD HQ, how can I help you?” 

Natalya breathed slowly. Some part of her had expected that no one would answer. The number was genuine. Now she knew and she could never un-know.

“SHIELD HQ, how can I help you?” he repeated.

“The French Consulate in Valparaiso, Chile.” She didn’t allow her voice to tremble. “In three days, a biological weapon attack.”

Natalya hung up before he could ask any questions or trace her call. She tossed the phone into a trashcan and hurried back to the base. 

***

06.24.98, 07:14

-33.0264433,-71.5565202 (The French Consulate, Valpairaso, Chile)

Natalya was dressed like a schoolgirl, in a crisp white blouse and pleated skirt. She carried a box of sweets from a local shop. From the corner of her eye, she saw two sleek, black sedans park across the street. She felt a certain tension release deep inside and a calm settled over her. 

“Don’t move!” They had sent different men this time. 

She didn’t recognize any of them, although the paper masks covering the lower halves of their faces would have made it difficult in any case, she studied the four pairs of eyes. He wasn’t here. Maybe these men would kill her. 

“Where is the weapon?” 

“Would you like a candy?” Natalya held the box forward.

The men recoiled. “Put it on the ground!”

The people walking along the streets began to take notice. Natalya dropped the box and raised her hands. “S’il vous-plait, s’il vous-plait!”

At the sound of a young girl speaking French, the men working at the consulate perked up. One of the guards at the door took a step forward. The main SHIELD agent, the one giving the orders, glanced his way.

He leveled his gaze at Natalya. “Get in the car.”

She continued in French. “Please, I lost my papers. I need to visit the consulate. I’m a French citizen.” 

The guard strode forward, his hand on his weapon. “What is going on here?” he demanded. 

“This girl is wanted for questioning,” the SHIELD agent replied. “She’s very dangerous.”

“What? No, I’m a student, I have a student visa.” Natalya looked at the guard pleadingly. “Please help me.”

The other guard, lingering at the doorway and waving other visitors in, tilted his head towards a walkie-talkie. 

“My bag was stolen,” Natalya continued. “All my identification. The police told me to come here.” Her voice trembled.

The lead SHIELD agent produced a badge. “This young woman is no student. She’s wanted in connection to several terrorist attacks.”

The guard looked at her, then back at the SHIELD agent dubiously. “Agent --” he leaned in and squinted at the badge, “Sitwell, are you sure you have the right person?”

Natalya sniffled. “I want to go home.”

“There is a place inside where you can ask her a few questions,” the guard offered. “With one of our representatives also present.”

Sitwell released a slow sigh through gritted teeth. He balled up his fist and punched the guard in the stomach. The other guard shouted and one of the agents grabbed Natalya by the arm. She broke the man’s wrist in one swift motion and took off. She used the gathering crowd and the narrow streets to her best advantage. The guards delayed any pursuit considerably. 

By the time they discovered that the box of sweets was, in fact, designed to release anthrax when opened, Natalya was on a plane back to Russia.

***

08.30.98, 16:20

38.8950877,-77.0672599 (the Triskelion)

“SHIELD HQ, how can I help you?” 

“Six days from now, a bomb will go off in London. Parliament.”

“Who is this?”

She was gone. 

***

09.05.98; 12:01;

51.4994794,-0.1269979 (Palace of Westminster, London)

Dozens of agents swept through the city in teams led by explosive-sniffing dogs. They fielded scores of phone calls, most resulting in nothing. 

“I thought the fog was just, like, a stereotype,” Agent Salazar complained. She turned her head as Bailey barked. Sitwell followed the dog and its handler. As the three of them approached, a girl with dirty blonde hair slipped her backpack off her shoulders. Abandoning the bag, she ran across the nearly deserted square. 

“Stop!” 

The girl didn’t stop. She didn’t even hesitate. 

“The bag’s hot,” Agent Salazar called out. 

Sitwell drew and fired. The girl fell. 

“Put your hands where I can see them,” he said, approaching cautiously. 

She turned her head slightly, her eyes not quite focusing on his face. Sitwell stared down the barrel of his gun at her. “Who do you work for?” he asked. 

Her tongue moved thickly in her mouth as she tried to speak. She gurgled in Russian.

Sitwell frowned. “Do you speak English?” 

She reached toward him, her palm smeared with blood. 

He knelt. “Who do you work for?” He estimated her age in the mid to late teens. There was blood on her teeth. There were flecks of gold in her hazel eyes and freckles on the bridge of her nose. She went slack on the pavement. He was close enough to hear her dying breath rattle its way out of her throat. 

They took the body back to SHIELD.

***

09.01.98; 07:58

55.6417975,37.7170881 (Moscow)

“I’m Anna.” Natalya smiled brightly. 

The other girl smiled back. Her pale blue eyes were a sharp contrast to her dark brown hair. “I’m Sofiya.”

“Are the teachers nice here? We’ve just moved --”

Sofiya’s smile widened and she looped her arm through Natalya’s. “I’ll show you around.”

***

09.10.98; 16:42

“Look what Papa sent!” Sofiya squeaked. She held out a tiny bottle of bright pink nail polish. 

“That’s against dress code,” Natalya objected.

“We’ll only do our toes. No one will see.” Sofiya bounced on the balls of feet. “Come on. Live a little, Anna.”

“I’ll do yours, you do mine?”

“Let’s run down to the store first, I’ll buy us each a soda. Papa sent a little pocket money too.”

***

10.10.98; 10:08

Natalya sat crosslegged on the floor of her room, a safety pin holding a bundle of threads to the knee of her jeans. She picked up the strands of pink, yellow, white and blue, straightening and untangling them before carefully crossing and knotting them around each other, pulling each tight as she worked. The robins-egg blue was Sofiya’s favorite color. The ballet pink was Natalya’s favorite. The yellow represented friendship. And the white was because she needed four strands for the pattern of the bracelet. 

***

10.12.98; 07:50

“It’s so pretty!” Sofiya held out her wrist for Natalya to tie the bracelet on. “The colors are like spring.”

Natalya’s smile faltered a little. Sofiya wouldn’t live to see spring.

“I’ll never take it off,” Sofiya promised. 

***

11.21.98; 08:07

“You got it!” Sofiya shrieked. She barrelled down the hall, wide eyed and grinning maniacally. “Anna!” She threw her arms around Natalya. “You got Clara!”

Natalya took the embrace stiffly. “Oh. Who, who are you playing?”

Sofiya’s smile vanished as her cheeks went slack. “I forgot to look.” She scurried back to the bulletin board. Natalya followed at more subdued pace. Both girls scanned the pages for Sofiya’s name. 

“I’m the Nutcracker Prince. Anna, that’s perfect! You’re the princess --”

“Clara’s not a princess.”

“And I’m the prince.” She grabbed Natalya’s hand, dragging her down the hall into the little room where the girls changed into their leotards. The changing stall was deserted, all the dancers were clustered around the bulletin board. 

“What’s wrong?” Sofiya asked, pulling the door shut behind them.

“Nothing.” Natalya looked down at the floor.

“Anna, this is the role, the star. You earned it. Why am I more excited for you than you are?” She took each of Natalya’s hands in one of hers, ducking her head to try to meet the other girl’s eyes. 

“I know you wanted it.” Natalya looked up at her warily. “More than I did.”

“You deserve it,” Sofiya insisted. “You’re the better dancer and you practice more. And I couldn’t be more excited to play the Nutcracker Prince. You’ll get to rescue me from the Mouse King and I’ll get to sweep you off to a magical land.” She smiled. “And we’ll fall in love.”

Something both hot and cold swept through Natalya as their eyes met. “We should start rehearsing at once,” she whispered. 

Sofiya nodded and leaned in, pressing her lips to Natalya’s in a quick peck. The kiss was over before Natalya realized what was happening. 

Sofiya blushed fiercely as she pulled away. “I think there’s a kiss at the end,” she stammered. 

Natalya’s fingers tightened around Sofiya’s. “It should end with a kiss.”

***

12.09.98; 15:51

“It’s Saint Anna’s day! Are you doing anything special?”

Natalya shook her head, her auburn curls bouncing off her cheeks. 

“Well, I got you a gift.” Sofiya scurried to get in front of her friend. “Close your eyes and hold out your hand.”

Natalya frowned at her suspiciously but she did as she was told. To her surprise, Sofiya didn’t place something in her palm, rather, she felt a whisper of pressure around her wrist. Natalya opened her eyes to see a pink, white, yellow and blue knotted bracelet. “It matches the one I made you!”

“Well, I think yours looks a little nicer, but I’d never made one before.” Sofiya smiled broadly. “Do you like it?”

“I’ll never take it off.”

***

12.28.98, 08:08

38.8950877,-77.0672599 (the Triskelion)

“SHIELD HQ, how can I help you?” 

“Ten days from now Matvei Drakov’s daughter Sofiya will die. Do you know who that is?”

“The arms dealer,” he said quietly. His pen scratched shorthand across a notepad.

“He is an arms dealer,” Natalya admonished sharply. “She is an innocent. So pure and so, so sweet. I don’t want to kill her. Please do something.”

She held the phone for a long moment after she’d disconnected. A knot pressed into Natalya’s sternum, she visualized ropes wrapped around her ribs in pink and blue and yellow and white. Maybe SHIELD would kill her to save Sofiya. She stared at the phone and the bracelet around her wrist. Easiest call she’d ever made. She forced her fingers to open, dropping the phone into a trashcan. She didn’t go to class. 

***

12.29.98; 11:48

55.6417975,37.7170881 (Moscow)

“You weren’t at school yesterday. Were you sick?”

She couldn’t meet Sofiya’s eyes, but Natalya nodded mutely and stared at the floor. 

“Are you better?”

Natalya swallowed and looked up, forcing a smile. “Much.”

“Papa said you can spend the night for Christmas, if it’s okay with your parents.”

***

01.08.99; 12:03

Natalya cut through the bloodstained threads around her wrist. No one had come. SHIELD hadn’t even tried to save Sofiya. She rubbed her arms, trying to get rid of the goosebumps, and waited for her ride.

***

02.14.99; 08:00

48.6977477,44.3757754 (Saint Euphrosyne’s School for Girls)

Ivan’s massive hand rested on her shoulder as he led her towards the man standing in the exact center of the gym. The Winter Soldier - with his unkempt ponytail and steel arm - was something of a legend among the girls. His true name was never spoken, rumored to be known only by Ivan himself. His origins were shrouded in mystery. He was said to be ageless, timeless, stronger than a hundred men. 

The girl threw her shoulders back and held her head high as she thrust out her right hand. “I’m Natalya.” She met his eyes. 

The Winter Soldier looked at her, her outstretched hand, her steady gaze, and her sleek copper bun. He looked to Ivan expectantly.

“You have two weeks to sharpen her hand-to-hand skills. Hone her to the razor’s edge. We have much blood to spill.”

The Winter Soldier watched Ivan walk away before turning his attention to his student. “Let’s see what I have to work with.”

***

02.26.99; 09:43

“Breathe.”

“I am breathing,” Natalya snapped. He never spoke unless it was to correct her. It seemed nothing she did was good enough for the Winter Soldier.

“Relax. Don’t lift your heel.”

They traded a few more blows, dodging and blocking and trapping each other’s hands as they struck. Natalya dropped her hands and let the next one make contact. Without hesitation, he struck her again, harder. She staggered back. The third strike brought her to her knees.

“What are you doing?” he demanded. 

Natalya panted and looked up at him. “Giving up.”

He knelt next to her and placed a surprisingly gentle hand on her arm. “Don’t.”

***


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sao Paulo and other misadventures.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a very dark chapter in Natalya's life and also in this story. Even compared to the previous.

08.19.99; 09:10

-23.627001,-46.7670845 (São Paulo, Brazil)

Natalya arrived in São Paulo on a Thursday with a dark brown wig and a fake ID. Her scowling partner spoke no Portuguese. 

Natalya glanced at the clock on the nightstand. “Morozov will be here within the hour.” 

Her partner shuddered at the name, an involuntary twitch he didn’t seem to be aware of. Natalya knew that Morozov was his regular handler but she’d never worked directly with the senior agent before. The Winter Soldier slouched over the far side of the king size bed and dropped his duffel on the floor. 

“You can take the bed.” He stared at his bag as he spoke, but Natalya assumed he was talking to her. 

“We’re going to be here for months,” she pointed out. “We could split it. I’ll take a week, you take a week.”

He knelt and unzipped his bag and didn’t answer.

***

Morozov stood even taller than the Winter Soldier and, unlike his asset, he stood up perfectly straight. With his ramrod posture and stern, expressionless face, he reminded Natalya of the iconographic statues that filled the alcoves of the church. 

He studied the two of them with eyes as cold as Mother Russia’s winter sky. “We need two or three girls a week.”

“That will raise suspicions,” Natalya objected. 

The Winter Soldier bowed his head, cringing as he cast his eyes to the garish carpet.

Morozov slitted his eyes at the insolent girl. “You have to take the girls that no one will miss.” He chucked her under the chin roughly. “Girls like you.”

Natalya dropped her gaze.

He looked sharply at the Winter Soldier. “I expect no trouble. Everything will go perfectly smoothly. Thirty-five girls in three months. I’ll check in from time to time.” Morozov spun on his heel. His exit broke a seal over the room and allowed the air back in. A little awkward silence passed in his wake.

“Do you have a name?” Natalya asked. “Something I can call you besides the Winter Soldier?”

Her partner didn’t answer, just pulled a map out of his bag and spread it over the bed in their hotel room. “We’ll start here.” His finger dented the paper. “Lots of nightclubs.”

***

08.29.99; 19:23;

“James,” he said quietly. He was driving, two girls drugged and bound in the trunk. Natalya frowned at him. 

“My name,” he said.

“Is James?” She kept her voice low so the prisoners wouldn’t hear. 

“Barnes, James Buchanan; Sergeant; 32557038.” His foot slid off the gas and the car slowed to a crawl. His hands dropped into his lap; the vehicle pulled slightly to the left. 

“Are you okay?” Natalya put her hand on the wheel to keep them in their lane. “We have to keep moving.”

He looked over at her and there was something different in his eyes that she couldn’t place. 

“Barnes, James Buchanan,” he whispered. 

Natalya unbuckled her seatbelt. She shoved his seat back and slid in front of him, putting her foot on the pedal. She drove to the drop off point with him muttering in her ear. “Sergeant; 32557038.”

Natalya took them down a back road that was nothing but dirt, stopping two kilometers from the meeting point. She twisted in his lap to face him. “James, you have to snap out of this. You have to make the exchange. Can you do that?”

He nodded, and she climbed out of his lap and back into the passenger seat. He finished the drive and traded the girls in the trunk for an envelope full of cash. They drove back to the hotel in silence.

***

09.14.99; 04:13

James paced the floor of the small hotel room. Natalya opened her eyes and glowered at him sleepily. “What time is it?”

He jumped at her voice, spinning to face her with hands up in a fighting position. She could see him trembling in the neon glow filtering through the thin curtains. He glanced around the room, orienting himself. “Um. Four-ish?”

She sat up, letting her feet dangle off the edge of the bed. “Are you okay?”

“I had a nightmare.” His right hand ran up the metal of his left arm until he found flesh at the top. He rubbed his shoulder in tight circles, digging his nails into his skin on inward stroke. 

“Me too.” The corner of her lips twitched up in a half smile. She patted the bed next to her. “Tell me about it?”

“I was running.” He shuffled nearer. “Away from something, I don’t dare turn and see what it is. And then-” James shuddered. “I was falling. Just falling and falling and it’s so cold and I never hit the ground.”

Natalya grasped his left hand as she stood. She gently pulled his right hand away from his shoulder, stilling him, holding both of his hands in hers. 

It took a few minutes for him to catch his breath and stop shaking. He just stared down at her face, feeling the warmth of her hands as reality settled in around him. “What about yours?” he finally asked. “What was your nightmare about?”

"I’m exhausted, running off maybe three hours of sleep a night, and I finally drift off but there’s this jackass pacing through the room while I’m trying to sleep.”

His jaw dropped; he blinked twice. Then his mouth contorted into a smile and he chuckled. “You--you know I have permission to kill you if you get out of line, right?”

“Might be the only way I get any rest,” she replied. Her teeth flashed in the dim room. 

“I’m sorry for keeping you awake.”

“You didn’t really,” Natalya admitted. She pressed her lips into a thin line, gathering her thoughts before she began to speak. “There’s a room with hardwood floors and hideous floral wallpaper. A bed with a wooden frame and an equally ugly duvet. A dresser with brass drawer pulls. It feels familiar even though I’ve never been there before. There’s no door and no windows. And then…,” Natalya hesitated and frowned; she let go of his hands, but he held on. “There are these hands that just start growing out of the floor and the walls and even the ceiling. I run across the room and I jump onto the bed, but they’re coming out of the bed too. Warm, like live, human hands, but rough like the cotton of the bedspread too.” Her voice cracked, and she cleared her throat. “They grab me and I can’t get away.”

James let go, suddenly too aware of how small her hands were in his. 

“It sounds dumb to describe it,” Natalya muttered. “Like I’m afraid of a bunch of disembodied hands.”

“Sounds pretty terrifying to me.”

She looked up at him, scrutinizing his facial expression. He gave her a gentle smile.

“You rest,” James said. “I promise no more pacing.”

***

09.20.99; 18:48

James turned the knob and pushed, but the door only opened an inch before stopping. He could see the dark, tarnished, brass chain across the narrow opening. A furrow creased his brow as he leaned in, turning his head so his ear was to the gap. He heard a muffled thumping and the rhythmic creak of the bedsprings. He pulled the door shut. James looked up the hall. He looked down the hall. Wrinkling his nose, he sat on the floor, leaning against the wall across from their door. He glanced at the bag in his hand. With a shrug, he pulled out one of the containers, opened it, and began to eat. 

***

09.20.99; 19:07

James sprang to his feet, crouching in the hall as the door opened. Morozov tucked a cigarette between his lips as he walked out, patting down his pockets for a lighter. He paused, looking at the Winter Soldier, and took the cigarette out to speak. 

“She’s a lot of fun. I’ve had better, of course, but you probably haven’t.” Morozov’s smile made his skin crawl. He pulled a lighter out of his front pocket. “You haven’t had her yet, have you? Better get while the getting’s good.”

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as James slowly rose, gripping the bag with white knuckles. He watched the older man’s back as he ambled down the hall. He didn’t look at Natalya, curled on her side on the bed, as he stalked through the room. Roughly, James set the bag on the nightstand. 

“How about I suck you off?” Her voice was soft with a little rasp that wasn’t normally there. 

The walls seemed to lean in on James. He was aware that he was holding his breath as he forced himself to turn towards her. She’d sat up halfway, leaning on one arm, and watching his face with keen observance. 

“Just this time,” Natalya added. “We can fuck too, later. It’s just he’s going to be here all week and he’s….” She trailed off. 

He breathed shallowly, his heart pounding. Natalya flinched at his expression.

“Or we can do whatever you want, it’s fine.”

She was afraid of him. That one realization pushed through the fog that surrounded James. She was afraid. Of him. 

“He’s what?” James asked. “Morozov’s what?”

Natalya blinked slowly, looking down at the floor before bringing her eyes back up to his face. “Kind of … aggressive. I’m a little sore, but it’s not a problem.” She swallowed hard and forced herself to reach for him. “We can-”

James stepped out of her range. “Your food got cold. I’m not going to fuck you.” His eyes swept over her. “You look like shit.”

Natalya wiped at her smudged mascara but only succeeded in smearing it across her cheek. “Are you pissed at me?”

“You’re sleeping with Morozov.” He flung his hands out in a broad gesture and watched Natalya recoil. Clenching his teeth, James crossed his arms over his chest to keep them under control. He snorted and took in a deep breath. “I thought--I don’t know what I thought. I thought we were like friends or something. Morozov is the worst of the worst. I wake up sometimes and I don’t remember anything, any fucking thing at all, but I remember that I hate him. He’s probably thinking about torturing me while he’s fucking you. Yes, I’m pissed. Not at you. Just … in general.”

Natalya pulled a blanket around herself as she got out of bed. “Remember telling me that you have permission to kill me if I get out of line?” She pressed against the bed, avoiding coming any closer to him as she moved past. “You think I want to be sleeping with Morozov?” She shook her head a little.

James deflated. The scowl evaporated from his brow. Softened of its anger, his face seemed ten years younger. 

“I’m going to shower,” she said with a shrug. “It’s not like the food’s going to get any colder.”

He waited until he heard the water start up, and James called down to the front desk. “This is three-thirteen. I need fresh bedding brought up right away, and is there somewhere I could re-heat some food?”

***

09.21.17; 20:20

James answered the knock at the door. He and Natalya had been very professional all day; it wasn’t as bad as his anger and her iciness, but he missed the camaraderie. Morozov raised his eyebrows at him.

“Go for a walk,” the senior agent said. 

The Winter Soldier nodded. He took two steps back into the room to pick up his backpack and he glanced at the girl. Natalya stared at her paperback, her eyes refusing to focus on the page. 

James left. Morozov stayed.

***

09.22.99; 02:39

James squeezed his eyes shut tighter. There was the sound again. Sniffling. His eyes opened. He rolled onto his knees and popped up, peering at the bed. Natalya’s back was to him, but he heard the sniffling sound again as she shuddered. 

“Psst.”

She rolled over, and the pink, neon glow from outside the windows reflected off the wet tracks on her face. 

“What’s wrong?” He knee-walked to the edge of the bed, resting his elbows on the mattress. “Bad dream?”

Natalya wriggled closer to him and nodded. He crawled into the bed and laid down on top of the covers. She immediately curled into him, burying her face in his chest. 

“I’m sorry I can’t protect you from him,” James said softly. 

Her arm wrapped around his ribs. “Same.”

***

09.22.99; 07:54

The sweet smell of almond extract lingered in his nose. His mom must be making  Spritzgebäck. The scent of the cookies filled the house for weeks before Christmas. He’d have to convince Steve to help decorate them. Steve’s always turned out prettier than anyone else’s. 

He snuggled closer to the warm, slim body whose limbs were entwined with his own. Eyes still closed, he shifted until his lips found skin. He laid a kiss there and his lips curled into a small smile, the gentle curve of a contented cat. “Steve. Steve, cookies.”

“Hm?” A voice that was definitely not Steve's responded. 

He opened his eyes. Natalya was nestled in his arms, warm and soft. James sniffed. Her hair smelled like almond extract. He’d dreamed about that scent, but the dream fled quickly. It had been a good dream, that much he was sure of.

***

10.22.99; 21:34

Natalya leaned across the counter so far that her breath would have fogged the mirror, but she inhaled deeply and held it as she applied her mascara. She settled back, her heels clicking the tile floor in the bathroom, and exhaled. She screwed the lid back onto the tube and nestled it back in her makeup bag. She sat on the bed and looked over the map, her partner’s nigh-illegible scribbling throughout neighborhoods he’d already scouted. He’d be back soon with intel for the evening’s activities. 

***

10.22.99; 23:04

James should have been back over an hour ago, Natalya couldn’t just keep waiting. She took one more look at the map, seeking alternate ways in and out of the area he’d been checking out. She tucked the key to the hotel room into her bra and headed out.

Natalya walked with a purpose - head up, long, deliberate strides. Her stomach knotted. She clenched her hands into fists, white knuckles, nails digging crescents into her palms. As she walked past a darkened alley, she heard a thump. 

Another. And another. There was a heavy rhythm to the sounds, buried underneath the throbbing bass of the nightclub at the end of the block. 

She crept down the alley, hands raised to defend herself. Broken glass crunched beneath the soles of her shoes. Headlights from a passing car glinted off something metallic. 

Mostly hidden behind a dumpster, James had his right hand tangled in the front of a man’s shirt. James raised his left hand, the glint of metal Natalya had seen a moment ago, and brought it down. Thump. The fist sank into the pulpy mess of the man’s face. He raised his hand again. 

“James!” Natalya stepped in close, reaching for his upraised arm. 

He swung out instead of down, his fist leaving a bloody smear across her cheek as he struck her. 

“James,” she repeated. “What’s wrong?” 

He staggered a step toward her and she shuffled back. All at once, he pitched forward; he shoved her into the brick wall. Both hands slick with blood, he wrapped them around her neck and began to squeeze. 

Natalya’s eyes widened. She clawed at his wrists, feet scrabbling on the gravel. The heel broke off one her shoes as she struggled. The edges of her vision began to darken. 

He let go to catch her as her body went slack. She gasped for air, coughing and sputtering weakly. Eyes watering, she pulled herself out of the cradle of his arms. “Let’s get out of here.”

James looked over his shoulder at the body of the man, then back at Natalya. “He attacked me.”

“Okay. Are you hurt?” 

He looked down at himself. There was blood all the way up to his elbows. He shook his head. “This is all his.”

Natalya nodded; she took his hand, limping out of the darkness on a broken stiletto. They made it two blocks before a car pulled onto the sidewalk in front of them, blocking their path. A man got out on the driver’s side and leapt over the hood, shouting in Portuguese.

“I’m sorry,” James said. He held up his hands in what he hoped was a non-threatening manner. “Ingles?” 

The man whipped out a pistol and Natalya shoved James to the side. The bullet ricocheted off his left arm. Even with a semi-automatic, their attacker couldn’t fire another shot faster than James could take control of the weapon. He wrested the gun from the man’s grip and turned it on him. 

James shot the man twice. Natalya slipped into the car and popped open the trunk. “Toss him in,” she shouted through the passenger side window. 

With the body in the trunk, Natalya drove. “Are you alright?” She checked the mirrors compulsively. 

“I think so. You?”

“Fine. Who are these guys?” She headed out of the city, looking for somewhere remote to ditch the car and the corpse. 

“Pimps, I think. At least the first guy was. Some of the girls we took worked for him.”

“Out of the frying pan and into the fire.” 

****

10.23.99; 06:02

The whole room rattled with the force of the pounding on their door. They both rolled out of bed, instantly awake. Natalya opened the door and shrank into the wall as Morozov stormed in. 

“Where the fuck is last night’s delivery?” 

James paled a little as his heart dropped into his stomach. “I was attacked when I was out scouting. Someone figured out that I’m connected to the disappearances.”

Natalya crept forward. “When he didn’t come back, I went looking for him. By the time we’d taken care of the men who attacked him, it was nearly dawn.” 

Morozov whirled to face her. “You stupid bitch!” His face purpled with rage, spittle flying from his lips. “He is not your mission. Your mission, if you’re too dumb to recall, was to lure in the girls.”

“Yes, so that he could drug them and we could deliver them,” Natalya retorted, emphasizing both ‘he’ and ‘we’. “I can’t bring them in alone.” 

Madame B had specifically warned Natalya not to deliver the girls alone, as she likely wouldn’t come back from the drop off point. 

A vein throbbed in Morozov’s forehead. The edge of his hand smashed into the side of her face; Natalya felt her jaw dislocate. He grabbed her arm and dragged her to the bed with a wordless roar. 

James froze, his eyes wide. “It was my fault,” he said. 

Morozov flung Natalya onto the mattress. 

“But it was my fault,” James repeated, louder and more desperately. 

“Shut up!” His fingers dove into her underwear and yanked. Half the stitches in one seam popped as he manhandled them downward. With another jerk, the rest of the stitches gave and he shoved the rest of the fabric aside. Morozov undid his pants, pushing them down to his knees. 

Natalya whimpered, but didn’t resist as he forced her legs apart. James trembled.

_ You cannot harm your handler. _

She’d been too exhausted to even wash her face; rivulets of black raced from her eyes towards her hairline as Morozov’s weight pressed down on her. 

_ I thought we were like friends or something. _

Mascara and eyeliner and tears mixed in the cup of her ear. There was a pistol on the dresser. The murder weapon from the night before, the pimp’s gun: Natalya had kept it. James put his hand over it. Morozov struck her again and Natalya’s pained groan turned to a yelp. He took a step to the right. He didn’t want to risk hitting her. His hands shook. James took a deep breath. He squeezed the trigger as he exhaled.

James dropped the gun and ran to the bed. He pulled the body off her, dumping it onto the floor. “Natalya?”

She moaned something that sounded like it wanted to be words. James looked around the room, his head beginning to clear. 

“We’ll dump him where we put the others. Two men followed me back to the hotel. They attacked us. Broke your jaw. Tried to….” He looked down at her and looked away quickly with a slight wince. “They killed Morozov. It was my fault. I was sloppy; I was followed. But we killed them, we cleaned up all the bodies, dumped the weapons, the vehicles. Everything. We’ll clean it all up.”

***

10.25.99; 11:56

48.6977477,44.3757754 (Saint Euphrosyne’s School for Girls)

A bellow rattled the windows. It barely sounded human and yet, to Natalya, it sounded so familiar. The other girls ducked their heads and ignored it. Natalya moved towards the sound.

She hunkered outside a battered door, the wood dark with age. The scream tapered off. The silence was worse. She heard Ivan’s voice.

“ Желание,” he intoned.

Natalya leaned in. 

“Ржaвый. Семнадцать. Рассвет. Печь. Девять,” Ivan recited. “Добросердечный. возвращение на родину. Один. грузовой вагон.”

She heard James speak. He sounded different. Broken. She slunk away.

***

12.29.99; 23:56

38.8950877,-77.0672599 (the Triskelion)

“SHIELD HQ, how can I help you?” 

“New Year’s Eve. Anthony Stark.”

“It's you,” the operator said to an empty line.

***

12.31.99; 23:25

46.948214,7.4465433 (Bern, Switzerland)

Something heavy that she hadn’t known she was carrying suddenly loosed as she spotted him. Agent Barton stepped up to the bar, leaning in to be heard without raising his voice. 

“You called,” he said.

“People were dying.” She looked down, closing her eyes for a moment, sparing a thought for the innocent dead.  “What could I do?”

“Director Fury wanted me to tell you that he’s sorry about the girl.”

Natalya’s eyes snapped open. So many girls. So many apologies owed. “Which one? The girl his men shot and killed in London? The one he failed to rescue, even after I called, the one who's been dead nearly a year?” Her voice cracked, then softened. “Or me?”

Agent Barton looked at her, guilt heavy in his gaze. “I haven’t stopped worrying about you. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry too. About all three.”

Natalya couldn’t bear the weight of his eyes. She scanned the crowd for her target. She spotted his bodyguard first, the target was shorter than most of the men in the crowd, hard to find as he schmoozed his way across the floor. The women want him and the men want to be him. Aside from the frankly ridiculous goatee, he wasn’t bad-looking.  “There he is. I have to go.”

Agent Barton grabbed her by the arm. “You know I’m here to stop you from killing him.”

“Then stop me.” She stared at his hand, willing it to drop. “Let go, or I’ll scream.”

He did let go, and his eyes swept over her tiny, sparkling white dress. “I got my sleeves.” He gestured to his suit, giving the cuffs a little tug. “Where’s the rest of your dress?”

The suit looked good on him. It fit well, wouldn’t impede his movement too much, and displayed the taper from his broad shoulders to his narrow waist. 

She smirked at him. “In my room. Wanna see?” 

“Still playing that tired tune?” Clint rolled his eyes and sighed. 

Natalya mimicked the gesture. “I’m not going to kill him in front of all these people. I just need to drug his bodyguard so I can get him alone later. See you.” She slipped into the crowd. The bodyguard was a thick-chested man with long-ish hair and a double chin. She was calculating dosages in her head when Agent Barton seemed to materialize out of the crowd to confront her again.

“You can drug the bodyguard, but you’ll still have to deal with me.”

She rolled her shoulders forward a little to cause a dip in the neckline of her dress.  “Nice suit. I’ll seduce you.”

“It didn’t work last time.” He didn’t take the bait, his eyes were locked on to her face. 

She shrugged. “You didn’t put a bullet in my head. And you gave me your number. I’d say it worked better than anticipated.”

Stark was at the elevator. If she didn’t catch it, she’d lose her window. She feinted to Barton’s left and slipped past him on the right side, but he spun and caught her around the waist with one arm. The elevator doors closed and she brought the stiletto heel of her shoe down on his instep. His arm dropped away, fingers ghosting across her hips, grazing the hem of her dress as he recoiled. She shook off the touch and made for a door marked “Stairs.” 

Natalya was on the fourth step when she heard the door open behind her. A hand wrapped around her arm, pulling, and her back hit the wall, the railing pressing into her vertebrae. 

“Ow.” She complained in a matter-of-fact tone.

“That was for my foot. You deserved that.” He glared at her. 

His anger was a good fuel. It burned clean. 

“I deserve so much worse,” Natalya whispered.

“If you wanted to kill Stark, you wouldn’t have tipped us off. You called specifically so we’d stop you.”

_ If they hurt you, or you get in over your head... _

“I called to see if you’d stop me,” she countered. “You didn’t last time.” Sofiya’s death was still fresh in her mind, the blood still fresh on her hands, no matter how much she scrubbed. 

“I still don’t think you want to go through with this.”

Natalya didn’t care if Stark lived or died. She never asked why she was asked to kill the people she killed. Sometimes it was better not to know. “What I want has very little bearing on what I do.” She met his eyes. “The question is: are you willing to kill me to protect him?”

“Are you willing to die for this?” he countered.

Natalya wasn’t sure. There were worse things than death. “The price of failure is high.”

“If you go back.” His grip on her arm relaxed. 

Natalya retreated one step, still trying to get up to Stark’s room. “If I came to SHIELD, would I be safe there?” It wasn’t an option, no matter what he said, but he didn’t say anything. There was nowhere safe for her. She smiled faintly. His hand slid down her arm, calluses rough against her skin.

“It’s a no-win situation.” She stepped up again. His fingers brushed hers as she slipped out of his grasp. She ascended one step at a time. She put a deliberate sway in her hips at each one, the hem of her dress riding up her thighs as she moved.

He followed, a few steps below her. “Director Fury knows that you’re the one who’s been calling in the tips. That’s why he sent me. It’s a sign that it’s time for you to come in.”

She reached the second floor landing. “I can’t.”

“Why not? What’s keeping you there?” 

Natalya froze, her foot hovering above the next step up.

_ Barnes, James Buchanan. Sargeant.  _

“I don’t dare say it over the phone, no matter how secure you think the line is.”

“What is it?” A pair of creases appeared between Barton’s brows.

“I don't dare tell the man who answers, no matter how much you think he can be trusted,” she said, setting her foot down and climbing the next two steps. She could distract him, stall him.

“Trust me.” He closed the gap between them. The soft musk of his cologne, the sharp mint on his breath. With him one step below her, her high heels matched them for height. She could look right into his eyes.

“There’s an American prisoner of war. He’s being forced against his will to carry out their missions.” Natalya leaned in, dropping her voice to a whisper. “He’s been brainwashed.” She hesitated and willed her hand not to tremble as she touched his shoulder. “Tortured. I can’t leave him behind.”

“We can get him out.” 

There was nowhere he’d be safe. He was just like her. Clint’s promise rang empty in her ears. The concrete walls of the stairwell muffled the sounds of the party, but Natalya was suddenly dimly aware of the countdown. As fireworks and noisemakers blew in the background, she pressed her lips to his. 

His lips were softer than she would’ve expected; his kiss was nearly as sweet as Sofiya’s. 

He grabbed for the railing as he stumbled down two steps. His mouth hung open as his wide eyes searched her for an explanation.

“Save him, then me.” Natalya took the stairs as quickly as she could, until his fingers snagged in the back of her dress. 

“If you’re going to make a run for it, you might want to ditch the heels.”

“Promise me you’ll save him, even if you can’t save me.”

“I promise.” He gave a solemn nod.

She looked past him at the concrete steps, rusted metal wrapped over their edges of each riser. She glanced over her shoulder at the stairs ahead. There was no way this ended without someone getting hurt. “Hit me.” 

She watched him settle into his stance, balling his hands into fists. For that one moment, her greatest fear was that he wouldn’t. 

“I don't want to kill again. Hit me.”

A right cross impacted high on her jaw. Her head snapped back with the force of the blow. The coppery taste of blood hit her tongue, washing away their kiss. The lights in the stairwell dazzled her eyes, colors blurring. The stairs were as hard as they looked.

***

01.03.00; 10:38

48.6977477,44.3757754 (Saint Euphrosyne’s School for Girls)

“Don’t try to sit up,” Madame B warned. “You have quite a concussion.”

The thick leather straps buckled around Natalya’s wrists and ankles bound her to the cot, making Madame’s advice redundant. Ivan lurked in the doorway, thick arms crossed over broad chest. A faint scowl that Natalya had long ago determined was permanent was his only trace of expression. 

“Stark lives. What happened?” Madame’s gentle whisper had a way of being more terrifying than a bellow.   

“There was more security than we planned for,” Natalya said. Her head throbbed. “I couldn't get to him. I fought a man in the stairwell, but I was overpowered.”

“Tell me about the fight.” She put her hand over Natalya’s, leaning in. 

The thin mattress offered little comfort to her bruised body. “It was short.” Natalya shook her head softly. “He hit me and I lost my balance. I fell down the stairs. I don't even remember landing.”

Madame B looked over her shoulder at Ivan. He stepped further into the room, the harsh light washing all color from his face. 

“Do you remember him raping you?” His voice carried even when he spoke softly.

Ivan’s question sent a jolt through Natalya. Her heart seemed to leap into her throat and drop into her stomach simultaneously. Her chin quivered as she shook her head. She squirmed against the rough sheets. Every part of her hurt but she was suddenly hyper-aware of the pain deep between her legs. 

“Dmitri went in after you, despite his orders. He found you in the stairwell with a man on top of you,” Madame said in that same gentle voice. “Tall, fair-skinned, with brown hair. American, Dmitri said the man told him to mind his own business. Dmitri drew his gun and the man fled up the stairs, he couldn’t get a clear shot.”

“Does that sound like the man you fought?” Ivan asked. 

Natalya nodded. She would have classified Agent Barton as average height, not tall. She didn’t know how Dmitri would describe him. The fair skin and brown hair seemed accurate, given the lighting conditions in the stairwell.

Madame B stroked her hair. “Just as well that you don’t remember. Don’t give it another thought.”

If they didn’t want her to think about it, why tell her? Natalya pressed her tongue to the back of her teeth, fighting the urge to say something that would get her in trouble, and nodded again. 

She didn’t know how long she’d been laying in the stairwell. Had it been long enough for one of the other party goers to find her? A lot of men were tall, fair-skinned, and brown-haired. Ivan left without another word. 

Madame B unbuckled the cuffs, and Natalya sat up, wincing. The girl swayed a little and she took her instructor’s hand to pull herself to her feet. She braced herself against the cot, the room spinning and tilting. Natalya was barely aware that Madame B had left her side until she heard the sharp crack of Madame’s cane. The sound and her knee buckling registered before the pain. 

The pain was slowly blossoming across the back of her thigh when the second blow came. No words passed between them as the older woman administered Natalya’s punishment. Blood stained the rattan of the cane when Madame stopped. 

“Rest and heal,” she instructed. She left without waiting for a response and Natalya crumpled to the floor.

***

01.12.00; 19:12

James wrapped a ribbon of woven red fabric around his fist. He paid her no notice. Natalya stepped in very close to him.

“Do you remember me?” she whispered.

The Winter Soldier spared her a glance. “Should I?”

The sag in her shoulders told him everything. 

“Sorry I don’t,” he said quietly. “Are you okay?” 

“Fine.” She pulled her hair into a ponytail.

“I heard things didn’t go so well on New Year’s.” He glanced at her face. 

“Yeah, I failed. Hence the extra training.” Natalya stretched her arms behind her back until something crackled between her shoulder blades. She rolled her head around her neck. “Ready?”

“They say the target’s bodyguard….” He trailed off. 

“Knocked me down two flights of stairs? It was more like half a flight, but...." She shrugged. "Still got the bruises.” She didn’t mention that some of those bruises were from her punishment after. She was dressed for the weather, winter in Russia, and her long pants and high-necked sweater covered everything except the one on her jawline. 

“Do you want me to wrap the other one?” He held up his hands. 

“The other one’s flesh and bone, I’m used to getting hit with those. Let’s do this.”

He squared off with obvious reluctance in his posture. He studied her face for a long moment. So many girls, so many faces, and all of them so young and not at all innocent.

He leapt back as Natalya’s foot swung towards his leg and brought his fist down at her shoulder. She tucked into a roll, dodging neatly.

“Have you ever thought you could trust someone?” Natalya sprang to her feet, pivoting and throwing a kick at his knee. 

James barked an awkward laugh. “You’re asking the wrong guy. I don’t know what I’ve thought.” He doubled over as he took an elbow to the solar plexus. 

Natalya’s arm snaked around his neck. James dropped to one knee and threw himself backwards, pulling her off balance. They both landed on their backs, head to head, bodies splayed in opposite directions. He was quicker to get to his feet but he hesitated. 

A frown creased his brow. “Do I know you?” He offered her his hand. “From somewhere?”

“Just from here. We’ve worked together before.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “James.” 

He pulled her to her feet, his eyes tracking off into the distance. She took advantage of his distraction to launch another attack. 

He parried. “Morozov,” he finally said when she relented. “You were there the night he died.”

“I think I can trust you,” she admitted.

He threw a punch, landing a solid hit into her floating ribs. “You can’t.”

***


End file.
